


it never rains, but it pours

by renaissance



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, M/M, Road Trips, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4220157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day and a night stuck in each others' company, and four boys who have a lot to work out between themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it never rains, but it pours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [staticsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticsky/gifts).



> A confession: I read every single prompt for HQHols, and I read every single dear creator letter. A few prompts besides my recipient's stuck out for me. This is one of them and, naturally, it got out of hand. So, here's a treat! I hope you enjoy it! :D
> 
> (Also I was just made aware that the Crow's Home is a second year project.... whatever, just go with it, okay. Let's call this creative license.)

**i.**

“Remind me again what _he’s_ doing here?” Yahaba snaps, careful to keep his voice down as Futakuchi waves at them from across the road.

“Three things,” Ennoshita says. “First—Aone has the flu, and we need someone to take notes for set direction. Also, Futakuchi is the only one with a license. We would probably have ended up roping him in anyway.”

Ennoshita is frustratingly silent after that. “And the third thing?” Yahaba prompts.

Ennoshita shrugs. “I like him.”

Yahaba snorts. “Yeah, whatever,” he says. “That’s your funeral, I guess.”

They cross the street to where Futakuchi is waiting by a car that is way too fancy for the average eighteen-year-old, leaning on the bonnet like he’s some sort of teen movie love interest. Yahaba has an awful vision of him flirting with Ennoshita for the _entire drive_ , and it makes him want to throw up. So he does something impulsive, something he may regret later.

“I call shotgun,” he says.

Futakuchi gives him a look. “If you must,” he says.

“Your funeral,” Ennoshita says under his breath. He gives Yahaba a bit of a smug smile. Yahaba sticks his tongue out.

“Like my car?” Futakuchi asks as Yahaba climbs into the passenger seat. Of _course_ he mentions the car without being prompted.

“It’s junk,” Yahaba says. “I’ve seen better cars being impounded.”

“Thanks,” Futakuchi says, his upbeat tone not even flagging for a second, “I got it for my eighteenth.”

“Of _course_ you did,” Yahaba says. He is so ridiculously unsurprised.

“Actually,” Ennoshita says, sticking his head between the seats as Futakuchi switches to drive, “how do you feel about other people driving it?”

Futakuchi shrugs, to his credit, keeping his eyes on the road. “So long as they don’t fuck anything up.”

“I could use it for a scene or two in the film,” Ennoshita says, “if that’s okay with you?”

“Anything you need, just ask,” Futakuchi says.

Yahaba pretends to throw up.

Thankfully, they’re at the train station within minutes, and Akaashi’s already waiting outside. He’s lugging a lot of camera equipment, so Futakuchi pops the boot open and they wait by the side of the road while Akaashi’s busy.

“I’m excited for the four of us to spend some time together, actually,” Ennoshita says, “for reasons beyond filmmaking.”

“How come?” Futakuchi asks.

“He’s new to this, isn’t he?” Yahaba says under his breath, even though he’s known Futakuchi for a while now.

“Oh!” Ennoshita says. “Well, we’re all recently-graduated volleyball club captains, you know. There’s a nice symmetry to it. I’m certain we’ll have a lot to talk about.”

Before that thread of conversation can go any further, Akaashi opens the side door and slides in next to Ennoshita. They get pleasantries out of the way quickly, and Ennoshita pulls a roadmap out of his backpack.

“Oh, no need,” Futakuchi says. “I’ve got GPS.”

Yahaba wonders how it’s possible for any one person to be so obnoxious. Half the charm of this sort of road trip is poring over a map, taking odd side-streets, getting lost and arriving an hour later than you meant to. If Futakuchi wants to ruin that with GPS, then he’s boring as well as annoying.

Ennoshita handles it well, though. “I doubt you’ll find the address on your satnav,” he says with a laugh.

“Well, how do you even know this place exists, then?” Futakuchi asks.

“A combination of urban legend and street view,” Ennoshita says. “That was Akaashi’s idea, actually.”

Akaashi hums in agreement. “If I recall correctly, it was two in the morning when you messaged me and asked if I knew any good haunted houses.”

“That’s right,” Ennoshita says. “We were up until five doing location scouting.”

Yahaba laughs, since it’s clearly meant to be an amusing anecdote, but in the corner of his vision he can see Futakuchi’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. He doesn’t even crack a smile. _Oh_ , Yahaba thinks.

“Let’s get going, then,” Futakuchi says. “Ennoshita, I’m counting on you for directions.”

The conversation stills after that. Yahaba does not miss the way Futakuchi keeps glancing into the rearview mirror, narrowing his eyes. Yahaba is just about ready to yell—he thinks that if Futakuchi doesn’t get over it and kiss Ennoshita soon, he’ll damn well kiss Futakuchi himself just to stop him from moping.

“Oh,” Akaashi says, breaking the silence, “Ennoshita, did you see my comments on the draft script?”

“Yeah, I did,” Ennoshita says. “Sorry, I just haven’t had time to reply. I’m still busy filling out my college applications.”

“No problem,” Akaashi says. “There’s nothing that’ll mess with the location.”

“Hey, Ennoshita,” Futakuchi says, “why haven’t I read your draft script?”

Yahaba is very impressed that Ennoshita doesn’t even sigh. “I’ve been chatting to Akaashi about this idea for months,” Ennoshita says. “Usually I don’t like people reading my scripts until they’re perfect, but since he’s helped me so much, I thought—”

“Oh, well, that’s fine,” Futakuchi says, cutting him off abruptly. “It’s nothing.”

“No-one asked for your approval,” Yahaba mutters.

“Hey,” Futakuchi says, “any more sass from you and I’m pulling in at the next petrol station and you’re getting in the backseat.”

“Which of us would go to the front, then?” Akaashi asks. He sounds very eager for the answer to be “Not you.”

“Neither of you, for all I care,” Futakuchi says, in a tone of voice that indicates he really _does_ care. “I’ll make Yahaba sit in the middle and I’ll turn the rearview mirror away while you three get up close and personal.”

“Ew,” Akaashi says.

“I’d sit in the middle,” Ennoshita says, “since, well, I _am_ the smallest…”

“No way,” Yahaba says. “I’m taking the middle. I’ll lean forward and keep sassing Futakuchi.”

“You do that, and I’ll kick you to the curb,” Futakuchi says.

Ennoshita clears his throat. “Um, I hope that’s just a turn of phrase.”

“You’re the writer,” Futakuchi mumbles.

“He’s not _actually_ going to kick me,” Yahaba says. As much as he despises Futakuchi, he cares enough about Ennoshita that he doesn’t want the two of them to argue. “I’d put up more a fight than you’d be able to handle, Futakuchi.”

“You wanna try me?” Futakuchi asks.

“I’ll film it,” Akaashi offers.

“No thank you,” Ennoshita says. “Come on, let’s stay harmonious. We’ve got a whole day’s work ahead of us.”

“Yes, director,” Futakuchi says, rolling his eyes. From his vantage point, though, Yahaba doesn’t miss the way Futakuchi smiles a bit.

Romance is disgusting.

“So when we get there,” Ennoshita says, changing the topic, “we can split up a bit, do our own thing and then put it all together.”

“What’ll we do if the mansion isn’t suitable?” Akaashi asks. “I’m hoping it will be, but it never hurts to have a contingency plan.”

Yahaba lets out a laugh. “Then Futakuchi will just have to drive all the way back.”

There’s silence for a long moment after that—and then, Futakuchi pulls in by the side of the road. 

“Yahaba. Get in the back.”

 

* * *

 

 **ii.**  

They drive through the trees for fifteen minutes before a driveway emerges, and it’s not long after that when a three-storey mansion comes into view. It really is a haunted house, emanating fear in every loose-hanging tile and every window pane that’s more cobweb than glass. Immediately, Akaashi starts thinking about its best angles, about a shot of the house coming up the driveway or a low pan from beneath the front awning.

“This is perfect,” Yahaba says, winding the window down and leaning out.

“The legend is that an eccentric billionaire built this place at the turn of the 20th century,” Ennoshita explains, “but he was a recluse and had no contact with his family, so when he died it fell into disrepair.”

“It sure is a good location for a recluse,” Futakuchi says. Akaashi gets the impression that he’s resenting having to drive out so far.

Next to Akaashi, Ennoshita checks his watch. “Ah, good,” Ennoshita says. “It’s only just midday. Should we get started before or after lunch?”

“Let’s eat first,” Yahaba says. “I’m starving.”

“That’s just because you spent the entire drive complaining,” Futakuchi says. Yahaba does not dignify him with an answer.

Futakuchi parks at a cinematic angle outside the mansion. The first thing Akaashi does is get his camera equipment out of the boot and set up to take a few test shots of the area. The mansion has a front porch with steps leading up to it, and they creak as the others sit on them and get out the bentos that Yahaba’s mum prepared—Akaashi vaguely hears some sort of teasing, but he’s not paying attention. He doesn’t need to eat, anyway. Getting a feel for the location is way more important.

“After lunch, we can open that door and see how haunted this place is,” Ennoshita says.

“I don’t really need to look around in there, do I?” Yahaba asks. “I’m just here to make music.”

“Sure,” Ennoshita says, “but I invited you for a reason. I’d value your input too.”

Akaashi turns his camera onto the three of them just in time to make out the way Yahaba blushes a bit and Futakuchi folds his arms indignantly.

“Oh,” Yahaba says. “I mean, I’m happy to help—”

“What,” Futakuchi cuts in, “you’re afraid of ghosts, is that it?”

“Shut up,” Yahaba says, “that is so not what I meant.”

“Is it any worse to admit to fear than to admit to insecurity?” Ennoshita asks. He’s sitting between the two of them like a buffer zone. Akaashi turns the camera away.

“I’m not insecure,” he can hear Yahaba saying.

Akaashi sighs, focusing his lens on some trees and trying to decide what sort of atmospheric shots Ennoshita might want in his film. He tunes out of the conversation—those three, they’ve known each other for a while, and they’re all from the same prefecture, even if Ennoshita and Futakuchi apparently live far enough apart that they see each other more online than in person. Akaashi’s every sort of outsider it’s possible to be.

And as much as he wants to be more a part of the group, his sense of dignity, of social self-preservation, keeps him pulled back, from getting too close to the three of them as a unit. Even though he’s known Ennoshita for longer than both of them, and even though they’ve made more movies together without Yahaba or Futakuchi, it’s still weird.

“Not joining us for lunch, Akaashi?” Yahaba calls out.

“In a second,” Akaashi says, keeping his attention fixed on his viewfinder. “I’m not that hungry.”

“That’s fine,” Ennoshita says. Somehow, his tone is softer than Yahaba’s. “You can eat whenever.”

“I feel bad,” Yahaba says. “Like we’re being a bit exclusive.”

If they can’t make an effort, and neither can Akaashi, what does that say about any of them? Sighing, Akaashi puts his camera away and moves to the steps, taking the bento that Yahaba offers him.

“My mum’s a great cook,” Yahaba explains. “But just in case, I’ve got snacks in my backpack.”

“I brought sour gummies,” Futakuchi says, “but they’re my personal stash, okay? None of you guys can have any unless, like, you’re dying of low blood sugar, or something.”

“God, you get on my nerves,” Yahaba says.

“That’s alright,” Futakuchi says, shrugging.

That’s another thing. Akaashi notices people more than anything else—he can train his camera on as many pretty scenes as he likes, but nothing will change the fact that he feels most alive when he’s capturing attitudes, dynamics, relationships. He could make a film about Futakuchi and Yahaba alone, but he’s not sure Ennoshita would like that. It’s not what they’re here to do, after all.

When they’ve finished the meal, Ennoshita’s the one who’s bullied into opening the front door.

“I’m half-expecting a swarm of bats to fly out,” Futakuchi admits.

“That only happens in movies,” Yahaba says dismissively.

“Well,” Ennoshita says. He leaves the obvious unsaid. This may as well be cinema. Akaashi grips a hand tighter around his camera case just to drive the point home.

Ennoshita reaches out and twists the doorknob. It opens easily—thankfully there’s no need to break down the door, and there are no bats, just a creak as the door unsettles the years-old dust on the mansion’s floorboards.

“Wow,” Ennoshita breathes. “I think I’m in love.”

A gust of wind blows in behind them, and the whole house seems to breathe. Even though there are a few clouds overhead, there’s still light coming in through the windows, picking up on the dust in the air and making it sparkle. Akaashi immediately takes his camera out and starts alternating between filming and taking pictures.

“We’d have to clean this place up a bit for it to make sense,” Ennoshita says, “especially for the scenes after the family have moved in. But the aesthetic is exactly what I was after.”

“Wait until you see this,” Futakuchi says. He’s already halfway up the stairs to the second floor, leaning on a railing and looking up.

Instead of waiting to ask, Ennoshita quietly closes the front door behind him and makes his way towards the stairs. When he gets to the landing, standing beside Futakuchi, his mouth drops open, and he whispers “ _Oh my god_.”

Reluctantly, Akaashi stops photographing the dust and makes his way up the stairs after them, and Yahaba follows. The stairway curves after the landing, doubling back on itself and broadening to reveal an extravagant open space, the sort of ballroom that no recluse would ever have used, which makes Akaashi doubt the urban legends he’s read about this place.

When they come up the stairs, they can see that the ballroom narrows to two corridors on either side, each of them leading to more rooms. There are two winding staircases at the back corners of the room leading to the third storey.

Akaashi immediately starts by exploring the corridors, finding bathrooms and drawing rooms and a study with shelves full of books. Ennoshita follows, taking notes and occasionally commenting on how much use any of the rooms will be. He’s particularly taken with the study. Yahaba, meanwhile, gets his laptop out and starts playing music to explore the acoustic of different spaces. Futakuchi, who’s Aone’s proxy for set direction, has  a sketchbook which is soon full of drawings of different rooms from different angles.

After two hours, they reconvene in the dining room, hidden away on the ground floor, to go over their work. Everything’s laid out on the dining table, paper and laptops and cameras, and Akaashi can’t help but feel proud of what the four of them have done. Ennoshita looks like he’s on the verge of tears—he has that wobbly smile on his face that only belongs to the sort of person who, somewhere along the line, has been told not to express themselves too much. Akaashi recognises it a bit too well.

“This is incredible,” Ennoshita says. “We’ll be ready to start filming next week, with any luck. Akaashi, you’ll be able to come down then?”

Akaashi is so caught up thinking about the ways people express themselves that he doesn’t respond immediately, and then barely notices when, first, Yahaba’s head turns to the windows, and the other two follow his gaze.

It starts as just a few drops of rain, and within seconds it’s a downpour, with heavy drops flying through the gaps in the windows and landing on the room’s moth-eaten carpet, blowing holes in the dust. It must be a long time since it’s rained here, and Futakuchi is the first to react, throwing himself onto the table and shielding his sketches from the spray and splatter that the wind sends in their direction.

They fall back to the ballroom, where they can get furthest from any windows. It’s like a lead weight hanging in the atmosphere, so Akaashi takes it on himself to say what they’ve all been thinking.

“I guess we’re stuck here a little longer.”

 

* * *

 

**iii.**

On the floor of the ballroom are four small bags of crisps, two green tea kitkats, a bag of milk bread, and a box of Chelsea toffees.

“Surely this enough!” Futakuchi says, gesturing at the spread.

“I don’t think it’ll last us the night,” Ennoshita says glumly.

At this stage, it looks like they’ll be stuck here overnight. It’s getting dark and the rain shows no sign of letting up. On top of that, there’s a growing fog outside, and there’s no way Futakuchi’s driving in these conditions. They’ve all called their parents, and now all that’s left to do is share out the rations.

“We’re going to need the extra sugar,” Akaashi says, looking Futakuchi directly in the eye.

“No way!” Futakuchi says. Apart from anything else, Akaashi scares him a bit. Before today, they'd only interacted in a large group conversation with a heap more of Ennoshita’s friends, and Akaashi had seemed quiet and harmless, if a bit snarky in the same vein as Ennoshita. In person, though, he gives off the impression that he could ruin your entire life without so much as lifting a finger.

“God, get over yourself,” Yahaba says.

“Okay,” Ennoshita says, “let’s not turn this into Lord of the Flies. Futakuchi, come on.”

Futakuchi puts on his best hurt expression, but Ennoshita’s already got out his diplomatic tone of voice, and there’s a look on his face that Futakuchi really can’t refuse.

“ _Fine_ ,” Futakuchi says, capitulating and reaching into his backpack. “Just take them.”

He throws his sour gummies into the pile, glowering so that it doesn’t seem like he’ll do anything if Ennoshita tells him to.

“Thank you,” Ennoshita says. “So we’ll have the crisps and the bread for dinner, and then save the sweets for if we need them.”

“That works,” Yahaba says. “I’m glad I thought ahead to bring all this—”

“Not _all_ of it,” Futakuchi reminds him. He’s going to be bitter for a while.

Akaashi glances between them. “I want to take some footage downstairs in the rain,” he says, getting to his feet.

“Good idea,” Ennoshita says, following Akaashi. “I’ll come with—we can use it for some night-time shots if we need filler.”

“Wait,” Futakuchi says, “don’t—”

— _don’t leave me here with Yahaba_ , he thinks, watching their backs disappear down the stairs. He could get up and follow them, but then Yahaba would probably eat all the sour gummies, just out of spite.

“Hey,” Yahaba says, “while you’re still here, at least can you make yourself useful and listen over some of the stuff I’ve been putting together?”

Futakuchi exaggerates a sigh. “If I must,” he says. “Is this mixing stuff, or composing stuff?”

“Composing,” Yahaba says. “I figure since Ennoshita got Akaashi to read his draft script, you’d feel—ugh, more _included_ , or whatever, if you get a preview of this.”

“Sure,” Futakuchi says, accepting the headphones that Yahaba holds out for him. “Although I don’t know why you’d think I feel left out.”

He puts the headphones on, and Yahaba hits play on his laptop. The music is sort of creepy and atmosphere—it’s good, if a bit rough around the edges still. But the scene it sets is just right for a rainy night with the wind whistling and howling, and Futakuchi gets a bit caught up. Not that he’d tell Yahaba that.

“Well?” Yahaba asks.

“It’s good,” Futakuchi says, because he doesn’t want to give too much away. “Spooky.”

“Is that all?” Yahaba presses.

Futakuchi shrugs, handing back the headphones. Yahaba takes them back with a huff, and then presses a few buttons in his editing software.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Futakuchi watching Yahaba work, and then Yahaba sighs loudly. The thing about loud sighs is that they’re usually an invitation for conversation. When someone sighs like that, they want you to listen to them complain about something. Futakuchi knows he’s in for it eventually, whether or not he acknowledges Yahaba now, so he decides to hasten his demise.

“What is it?”

“You’re sulking,” Yahaba says plainly.

“ _Me_?” Futakuchi says. Is Yahaba not aware that _he’s_ sulking?

Yahaba rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’ve been sulking ever since Akaashi got in your car.”

“Well, I haven’t,” Futakuchi says, “but thanks for your input.”

“God, you’re so dense,” Yahaba says. “Can you even hear yourself? Look, it’s—it’s okay to be jealous, so long as you know that you’re jealous. So long as you know _why_ , and what to do about it.”

Futakuchi narrows his eyes. Yahaba isn’t much shorter than him, but if Futakuchi sits up straighter he can still get in a bit of the sense that he’s looking down his nose. “What would I _possibly_ be jealous about?”

“Ugh,” Yahaba says, “you’re frustrating.”

Without warning, Yahaba launches sideways, pressing his hands to Futakuchi’s cheeks and aiming straight for his mouth. Futakuchi likes to think he’s pretty good at kissing, and it’s just an impulse to bring his hands up and wind his fingers around the back of Yahaba’s neck, pulling him closer and shifting to deepen the kiss. Yahaba’s going about it with more anger than passion, almost like he’s trying to wrestle Futakuchi’s tongue with his own.

It’s a pretty good kiss, by all standards, but Futakuchi’s not really feeling it, so he pulls away, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “What was that about?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

“ _Yuck_ ,” Yahaba says, pulling back too. “That was disgusting. Ugh. I regret that.”

“ _Then why did you do it_?” Futakuchi asks, a bit manic.

“I don’t know,” Yahaba admits, not meeting his eye. “I thought maybe I’d get over my frustration and you’d get over your jealousy. But I just feel like I’ve wasted a few seconds of my life that I’ll never get back.”

“I still don’t know what I’m meant to be jealous of,” Futakuchi says.

“ _Akaashi_ ,” Yahaba snaps, “and how _close_ he is to Ennoshita.”

Futakuchi stares at Yahaba. He can’t formulate any better response than just staring, hoping it will adequately convey his bewilderment.

“Oh my god,” Yahaba says, “you mean you really didn’t notice?”

“Of _course_ I noticed how close they are,” Futakuchi says quickly. “But I’m not—why would you think I’m jealous of them?”

“You _idiot_ ,” Yahaba says, “you complete and utter waste of space! Do I need to explain _everything_ to you?”

“Well since I have _no_ idea what you’re insinuating, a little clarification would be nice!” Futakuchi says. “And I think you owe me this explanation, since you just _kissed_ me over it.”

Yahaba leans forward and puts his head in his hands. “You _like_ Ennoshita. In fact I would go so far as to say that you are _disgustingly_ in love with him, which is why you get twitchy whenever he and Akaashi so much as look in each other’s direction. And you _seriously_ need to learn to get over your jealousy issues.”

“First of all,” Futakuchi says, sort of aware he’ll come off as too defensive, “ _none_ of that is true.”

“Can you even hear yourself?” Yahaba asks.

“I’m not talking to you,” Futakuchi says. He doesn’t care that he’s being petty. If Yahaba is going to be like this, then _fine_. He’ll do perfectly well without Yahaba in his life.

“You’re a baby,” Yahaba says.

“Not talking you,” Futakuchi reiterates, shuffling away and retrieving his sketchbook and a pencil.

This time, at least, Yahaba doesn’t reply.

 

* * *

 

**iv.**

The rain’s falling in sheets, coming through the windows of the drawing room, and the tattered curtains are flapping wildly.

“I didn’t really want the windows to be broken,” Ennoshita says, “but I suppose we can play it off as a dream sequence.”

“Dream sequences are so tacky,” Akaashi says, not looking away from his camera. “But it’s your film, and I can’t stop you.”

“Exactly,” Ennoshita says. “If I’m going the full horror movie, I might as well indulge the finer aspects of my taste.”

Akaashi snorts, turning the camera to focus on another window.

“Are you doing better than this morning?” Ennoshita asks. He really doesn’t want to ruin the mood, but they’ll cut the sound out of the film and replace it with foley. And anyway, he’s worried about Akaashi. He can be as deadpan as he likes, but Ennoshita can still tell when he’s genuinely uncomfortable.

“Well,” Akaashi says, “I think so. I guess you noticed I felt a bit out of place, huh?”

“It’s understandable,” Ennoshita says. “But you seem to be getting on better with the lot of us now.”

“Even you?” Akaashi asks.

“I like to think we’ve always understood one another,” Ennoshita says.

Another gust of wind blows in, and this time it’s so strong that one of the window panes comes completely clean of its frame and shatters on the floor. Akaashi steps back, dragging his camera with him, and treads on Ennoshita’s toes. He keeps his hands firmly on his camera, but twists his head to face Ennoshita, and, oh, they’re awfully close now—

Ennoshita barely hesitates before standing on his toes and brushing his lips against Akaashi’s, just lightly. Akaashi blinks once or twice, and then looks away.

“Um,” he says.

“Uh, sorry,” Ennoshita says. There’s rain blowing in through the gaping new hole in the windows, and their legs are getting sodden. Ennoshita looks away.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Akaashi says. “That was like something out of a movie. You can use it; I don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” Ennoshita says, meeting his eyes again. “You’re not annoyed?”

“Of course not,” Akaashi says. “You know I don’t feel that way about—well, about anyone—but kissing is nice.”

Ennoshita rubs the back of his head. He doesn’t like Akaashi like that—although he _could_ —but this is fine as it is.

“Hey, let’s go back upstairs,” he says. “We should probably check that the other two haven’t come to blows yet.”

“Good idea,” Akaashi says.

When they get back to the ballroom, Futakuchi and Yahaba are sitting on the floor, as far apart as possible without getting in the path of the rain. They’re not speaking, not even looking at each other. Yahaba has his headphones on and is probably composing or mixing on his laptop, and Futakuchi is staring at a sketch that isn’t progressing much.

“Okay,” Ennoshita says, “what happened here?”

Futakuchi looks up and glares. Yahaba doesn’t even react.

“Come on,” Ennoshita says. “This is embarrassing.”

Embarrassing, but embarrassingly inevitable. Yahaba and Futakuchi have been at each other’s throats since Futakuchi’s car pulled up that morning. Ennoshita needs to fix this before it gets out of hand, though—he can’t let his filmmaking team break itself apart.

So, he walks up to Yahaba and yanks off his headphones, pulling him by the collar into the centre of the room. Yahaba squawks in protest—Ennoshita ignores him with a smile. Then, he grabs Futakuchi, who goes limp and lets himself be dragged with a scowl, and makes them sit opposite one another, sitting himself down between them.

Akaashi sits down on the fourth edge of the square, but picks up his laptop and plugs in his camera, distracting himself. It’s clear he’s not getting involved in this drama, and Ennoshita doesn’t blame him.

“I’ll ask again,” Ennoshita says. “What happened?”

Futakuchi breaks first. “He _kissed_ me!” he says, pointing an accusing finger at Yahaba.

“I didn’t—I mean, I did,” Yahaba says, “but I said I shouldn’t have!”

“You didn’t even have a good reason!” Futakuchi says.

Ennoshita frowns. None of this is what he expected, but he’s still not surprised. Being stuck in this house for so long is enough to drive anyone to do ridiculous things.

“Yahaba, what was the reason?” he asks.

Yahaba does not say anything, just alternates between frowning purposefully at Ennoshita and Futakuchi. Akaashi is mercifully innocent in this. Ennoshita envies him.

“He was frustrated,” Futakuchi says, “because _apparently_ I was acting jealous of you and Akaashi.”

Okay, so maybe Akaashi isn’t so innocent, albeit unwillingly. He tilts his head up from his laptop and he and Ennoshita share a look.

“You think there’s something going on between us?” Ennoshita asks.

“Isn’t there?” Futakuchi shoots back.

Akaashi shrugs. “Ennoshita, do you want to go out with me?”

“Not really,” Ennoshita says. “What about you?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Akaashi says, and looks back down at his screen.

“Well that’s just—” Yahaba begins, but can’t seem to finish the thought.

Yahaba and Futakuchi are still glaring daggers at each other, even though whatever that was has been cleared up. There’s too much _tension_ between them, Ennoshita thinks, and that’s when he gets an idea. After all, he’s never been one to do things in half-measures.

“I’m going to get rid of this atmosphere,” he announces.

“How?” Yahaba asks.

The fact that Yahaba spoke makes up Ennoshita’s mind, and he turns first to his right, lifting himself up onto his knees and cupping a hand around Yahaba’s jaw. “I hope you’re good at this,” he says.

Yahaba’s eyes are wide, but he makes the first move forward, and that’s all Ennoshita needs. He lets their mouths connect slowly and but with a bit of pressure, and breaks away after a few seconds.

“I can’t _believe_ this,” Yahaba says, “I don’t even like _either_ of you.”

“What about me?” Akaashi asks casually.

“You’re not involved in this,” Yahaba says, a bit testily.

Ennoshita turns his attention to Futakuchi, who hasn’t said anything this entire time. In lieu of words, his mouth is hanging open and he’s looking at Ennoshita like—well, like his birthday has come early, to be honest.

And since Futakuchi’s mouth was already open, Ennoshita uses a bit of tongue.

“There,” he says, pulling back. “Now we’ve all kissed each other. I hope this makes things less awkward.”

“How does this achieve _anything_?” Yahaba asks hysterically.

“Oh my god,” Futakuchi says, “can I kiss you again?”

Ennoshita pretends to think for a moment, like he doesn’t already know the answer. “I’ll consider it,” he says.

“If anything, this is _more_ awkward!” Yahaba says. “Ennoshita, what the _hell_?”

Ennoshita shrugs. “At least it’s not just you and Futakuchi getting under each other’s skin,” he says.

“Wait,” Yahaba says, “did you think we were—”

“Flirting?” Ennoshita asks. “Yeah. And given you kissed him—”

“I was _not_ flirting with him!” Futakuchi protests. “If anything, I’ve been—”

He doesn’t finish that thought. Ennoshita feels like he doesn’t _need_ to.

“It’s getting late,” Akaashi says. “Maybe we should get some rest.”

“Great idea,” Yahaba says quickly. “Really, really good idea.”

Ennoshita nods in agreement. It’s been a ridiculous day—he feels exhausted, physically and emotionally. But, it was good, too. It was an experience, and after all, isn’t that what friendships like these are about?

 

* * *

 

**v.**

Ennoshita is first to wake up, opening his eyes to dim light and the sound of soft rain. He barely slept with the storm last night, but it must have calmed down at some point, because he definitely doesn’t remember one of Futakuchi’s legs slung over his own, or Akaashi’s arm around his middle, and Yahaba’s arm around both of them. If he were a more malicious person, he’d hold this against his clingy friends for the rest of their lives.

As it is, he’s only a mildly malicious person, so he’ll hold against them for about a week.

The only thing that Ennoshita knows for certain is that he’s seen enough of this house to last him a lifetime. What a pity—they’ll just have to go location scouting again.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! I'm emotional about these four and need an outlet for more screeching haha


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